Warmth
by Scuttlebutt Inc
Summary: On the evening of their reunion, Ken is unable to hold back. Shounen ai/yaoi, MukuKen. Spoilers for manga chapter 264.


Chikusa looked weary when they changed the guard but Ken's familiar eyes saw the happiness that was still ambient in him. Just from being in the same room with Mukuro for several hours as he slept. Ken bared his teeth in an understanding grin and Chikusa warned him in a whisper to stay quiet and not to wake their boss, no matter how excited he was. Ken, not having grown all that much in spite of ten years behind them, pouted and complained that he wasn't stupid, of course he wouldn't wake him. He smiled though when the taller man touched his hair affectionately, so many years of shared anticipation culminating in a shared joy for this moment.

He managed to be content with sitting in the chair for about five minutes. He straddled it, arms folded over the back so that he could peer through the tiny split in the curtains that shrouded Mukuro's bed. A sliver of light fell across his sleeping face but even Ken's sharp, animal eyes could barely make him out. Finally he licked his lips and looked around the dark room before slipping out of the chair. He crawled between the split in the curtains, moving quietly up the length of the bed until he peeked over the edge near the top, the light cotton of the curtains falling over his shoulders. Then smiling blissfully, he crossed his arms on the edge of the bed and placed his chin on them, adoration washing fresh over him as he watched his master sleep.

Mukuro looked no different than he ever had, even in sleep. The illusions which masked the scar around his eye remained intact and perhaps there were others there, hiding dark circles and sunken cheeks. Ken was no illusionist and Fran was fast asleep so he couldn't tell them for sure. Ken wasn't convinced that the skinny little Varia frog was good enough to see through his master's illusions anyway. No one was as good as Mukuro after all.

Still, illusions or no, there was something strange about seeing Mukuro like this. Still, quiet, sleeping. His face smooth and unguarded. The bruises and marks where tubes had sprouted from his body were invisible, but there was still a vulnerability in his face that Ken didn't much like.

As his eyes adjusted to the dark, they scanned over every part. The soft part of his lips. None of the characteristically confident, knowing smile. The relaxed lids hiding the piercing glare that made strong men tremble with fear. His hair spilled around him, as long as it had been when he appeared to them in dreams and illusions. Ken planted his hands on the floor between his knees and lowered his cheek to the bed, against the midnight strands so stark against the white sheets. Maybe it wasn't as soft and silken as it felt against Ken's cheek. But it didn't matter, none of it mattered in the least because he was there in spite of whatever illusions softened his appearance. He was there and solid and Ken could tell the difference. He knew it was real because of the way that his heart swelled and his chest ached and he turned his nose to nuzzle into the inky hair of his master, breathing his smell and the lingering scents of the prison. No amount of illusion could have replaced the confidence that this was real.

He stayed like that for a while, minutes as least, breathing in Mukuro and the scent of clean sheets. When the weight of a slender hand found his head, he hadn't even noticed the movement, or the flutter of eyelids that meant his master was waking. His frightened eyes darted up, meeting Mukuro's heavily hooded ones.

"M-Mukuro-sama," he whispered, a tiny tremble almost instantly taking hold of his frame, as though he were suddenly icy cold. "I'm sorry -- I didn't mean to wake you -- I only --" But his apologetic fear warred with delighted warmth bubbling through him with that touch in his hair and all he wanted to do was nuzzle into Mukuro's hand, to lick the flavor of his skin as he'd done when they were children.

"Shh," Mukuro hushed, and Ken felt those fingers tangle deeper in his hair, scratching lightly, lazily, at his scalp. "You didn't wake me." His eyes were still closed, as though he were waiting to become used to the idea of light again and Ken remembered how dark it had been in the Vindice prison.

Ken stared at him for a long moment, Mukuro's delicate fingers urging him to relax but the tightness in his chest was winning over. Ten years of longing flooded over him, every day filled with guilt and gratitude and loneliness, never a day passing where he didn't think of what his master had endured for them. Never a day where he didn't hurt inside for the want to see him and touch him and thank him a thousand times, to grovel and please him every way he could have ever wanted. Feeling as though a part of him was missing for Mukuro's absence. The tears were spilled before Ken even realized they were welling and he couldn't stop himself from turning his head up to find Mukuro's palm and press his cheek into it, warm and damp with the streaks of tears. His own palm pressed to the back of Mukuro's hand, he sniffled just once, quietly and closed his eyes, soaking that touch in and willing his strength to flow into his master, willing the very life out of himself if it would revive him.

Now Mukuro's eyes did open and the surprise in them was subtle but evident as he witnessed the emotion quivering through the young man beside him. "Ken..." he breathed, and didn't hide the honesty of his voice, rough with disuse but gentle with understanding. "Tadaima..." He pulled his hand away, to brush a thumb over the dampness of Ken's cheek. "I kept you waiting for a long time."

Ken shook his head and then a smile warmed his eyes through his tears and his shoulders dropped, chin coming to rest on the edge of the bed. "I would have waited a hundred more years," he murmured back. He turned his head to kiss the inside of Mukuro's palm. "Okaeri."

"Mm, it's good to be back," Mukuro hummed, wiping again at Ken's other cheek, tugging faintly at one ear. "Have you been playing well with the Varia pups?"

Ken nodded once, confidently, likely oblivious to the irritation he'd been causing the Varia illusionist. "They're pretty annoying. But I can forgive them for freeing Mukuro-sama. We'll be leaving for Japan in the morning. It's cold here." With his words, he seemed to remember himself and sat up on his haunches to gently smooth Mukuro's blankets, making sure he was well protected against the chill of the blizzard outside the little house. "Is there anything you need, Boss?" he asked, eyes searching over Mukuro's pale face yet again.

"Hm, I seem to be well looked after here," was his answer, just a little teasing. "I am, perhaps, just a little uncomfortable in this temperature," he continued, his eyes catching and holding Ken's, unreadable but not unkind. "Are you too much an adult these days to share some warmth with your master?"

Ken's eyes widened and his answer was an instant, "N-no!" and he was on his feet immediately. He slipped out of his shoes (which he wore begrudgingly -- it was too cold even for his normal habits) and jacket and left them on a pile on the floor as he carefully climbed into the bed beside Mukuro. He knew Kakipii would disapprove and he might be scolded for waking the boss. He hardly cared. He did what Mukuro asked before considering Kakipii's instructions and that was that. It was perhaps a bit of indication that the wild boy had grown up a bit as he settled in with the other man. Where he might have in the past curled up tight against Mukuro's side, tucking himself under the other's chin, now he very carefully slid an arm under the illusionist's neck and shoulders. He was cautious to gather Mukuro's hair to one side and not lie on it or pull it, all of his movements just as conscientious as Chikusa's might have been. He was still smaller than either of the other two but his frame had filled out from the short, wiry creature he'd been as a child. He didn't hesitate to wrap Mukuro gently up in his arms, his cheeks dry when he nuzzled in to the other's hair again, this time behind his ear. "Is that better?" he murmured.

"Much," was Mukuro's pleased response and though he wouldn't soon need to be treated with such care (perhaps already did not _need _it) at the moment he gave no protest to being settled with his head against Ken's shoulder, the blond's body heat filling the small space beneath the covers that they shared. "Let me have your hand," he breathed, already searching for the arm draped across his waist. Ken was quick to offer his palm and Mukuro to take it, fingers grazing fingers until they threaded together, palm to palm. "It's good." The dark-haired man sighed, staring at their twined hands. "To touch something real." Then he laughed, shook his head, as though in apology for the moment.

But Ken only tightened his grip around the other the tiniest bit, his cheek against Mukuro's hair as he followed the other's gaze to the contrast of their hands. Mukuro's pale and thin and graceful like birds. His own shades darker and gnarled and wide in comparison, tipped with dark claws. He slowly unthreaded their fingers, placing the tips together, fanning them together. Slow, deliberate movement. So faintly, he brushed his nails down the inside of Mukuro's dove hand and then back up to his fingertips. Then back together, fingers like pale tiger stripes when they knit. Ken drew them closer and pressed a lingering kiss to each alabaster knuckle. "There'll be lots and lots more," he promised, breath warm over their hands.

"You're a good boy, Ken," Mukuro told him, placing a kiss of his own to the knuckles of Ken's hand. "You've become a good man. I know I did right to keep the two of you."

Ken could do nothing to quell the heat of delight that flushed across his face at Mukuro's words and he buried his nose deep into the other's hair, trying his best not to squirm with joy. And unable to help himself, he licked once at Mukuro's cool ear, a strangely innocent gesture coming from Ken even with the closeness they shared. "We're never going to let anyone take you away again," he whispered then, forehead resting against the side of Mukuro's own head. "Never. Our master. My master."

"I know, Ken," Mukuro answered, placing Ken's hand back around his waist, and lifting his own to instead run long fingers through Ken's hair. Petting, soothing, maybe even drawing some comfort of his own from the touch, the motion. "I know you won't."

Ken nudged blissfully under Mukuro's hand, appreciating every touch, settling and snuggling closer with every brush of fingers. He nuzzled a cool nose against Mukuro's cheek, biting his own lips faintly for a moment before he placed a light kiss on the other's jaw. "Kakipii says you should sleep until we leave." His words tickled across Mukuro's skin. "But I'll keep you warm until he drags me out."

Mukuro laughed quietly, continued to pet Ken's hair, seeming to enjoy the feel of it, even if it was dry and brittle with the weather. "I will sleep. We musn't worry poor Chikusa after all. But you will stay with me for now."

"And then tomorrow we take over the Vongola," Ken added with a grin and a faint click of teeth. His own hand moved, petting as well in slow motions at Mukuro's side, as thought he were trying to give back a little of the joy that melted so warm over his body from the point of Mukuro's touch.

"Yes, perhaps so," Mukuro chuckled, humming a little as he breathed against Ken's skin. "Just as soon as this job is complete. You can be patient, can't you, Ken?"

"I can be anything Mukuro-sama needs me to be," was the natural and unhesitating answer. His eyes sought out the mismatched blue and red, so much relief in him when he found that little smile he knew so well. The confident, knowing smile, the smile that saw into him and all of their enemies. The smile that had saved them from Hell itself. And after a moment, Ken pressed one more tiny kiss to him -- so softly and briefly to his mouth, wholly unassuming and devoid of anything needy or demanding. There was nothing that could have satisfied him more than just sharing this closeness with his master.

Mukuro seemed to know this, because he accepted the kiss, even offered it back, just the smallest, chastest of touches, but sincere nonetheless. "I'm going to sleep now," he murmured, when they were nose to nose and Ken could feel his breath across his lips. "I will see you when I wake again."

He felt the tiniest of nods with their brows lightly together, Ken's trust deep and his gaze attentive as he watched his master drift off in to his dream world again. With Mukuro's body relaxed against his, he lightly touched the inky midnight hair and so softly ran a finger or two over moon-pale skin. The curve of a cheek bone and the dip of his throat, careful not to wake him again with his adoration.

In a few hours, Kakipii would find him there and look at him disapprovingly and perhaps a little jealously for he had the self-control to act properly where Ken did not. And he would crawl out of the bed sheepishly, tail between his legs and they would be all business again. Missions and assassinations. But for these hours he refused sleep and instead his world boiled down to every part of his master. The sound of his breath and the tiny flutter of his lashes. Every strand of hair and every point at which they touched. The warmth between them and the tiny soft kisses he might place here and there without waking him. Everything real and palpable and wonderful about him. He spun his own illusions, thinking about what was to come. The laughter and the victory they would share and how proud their master would be of them. And thousands more nights they would share with him, warm and sweet and perfect, never letting their Mukuro suffer alone again.


End file.
